“Hannah Montana, really?” She snickers at me in surprise. I go to change it, but her hand stops mine. “Leave it.”
Sutton and I drive around for twenty minutes, landing ourselves back at my house. We don’t speak except for her reading Elliot’s text that she’s at my place.
Inside, I head upstairs to start my pre-game prep, and she follows me to my room. Echoes of my roommates’ voices trail behind us from the living room.
“You didn’t have to come up here with me,” I admit.
“You have my bag.” She points at the canvas tote printed with fruit.
One of my shoulders is being dragged down. “Sorry. Here.”
I hand it to her. She takes it but doesn’t leave. Sutton walks further into my room, claiming my desk chair as a bag hook.
“Can I stay?” she asks over her shoulder, eyes wandering over my bulletin board. Pictures taped to it.
“Please.”Don’t sound desperate, Cooper.
“When do you have to leave for your game?” Sutton turns around, laptop and notebook in her hands.
“An hour.”
“Okay. That’s enough time to?—”
I shake my head no, and she pauses. Mouth hanging open, and I want to kiss it again. Perfectly pink, recently glossed. Unabashedly, my gaze dips to them, and I know she catches me because she closes them and swallows slowly.
That only makes me want to kiss down her neck, following the motion. Press my mouth in the hollow of her collarbone, over each freckle. Whisper sonnets over the parts of her I’m desperate to love on, the invisible parts of her that make her beautiful and that I cling to.
Her mouth curls into a smirk. “No more practice kisses.”
“What about good luck kisses?”
“Nice try.” She rights her shoulders. “I’m not like the other girls you’ve been with. I’m not going to beg for it.”
Sutton doesn’t know what she’s talking about. There aren’t other girls, not since she’s been single.
And if anyone is going to beg for it, it’ll be me.
Maybe not.
Forty-five minutes later, when I exit my bathroom in my game day suit, her eyes are locked on me. Pupils widen, irises morphing into an electric shade of blue-green. Her telltale color of anticipation, excitement, and desire.
Maybe if I’m good enough, she’ll beg for me.
“Are you coming to my game?” I ask, leaning against the doorframe, taking in the way she’s stretched out on her stomach on my bed.
“Do you want me to?” Her question is more of a challenge, like I’m daring her.
Of course I want her there, but I think I want her to want to be there more.
“Yes,” I answer simply.
“We’ll see, Superstar.”
Superstar.
The nickname rings in my head with each touch of the puck during warm-ups, and I’m grinning as Coach wraps up his pre-game speech.
Our game against Ohio State is under thirty minutes away from puck drop.
